


Shartan's Riddle

by hes5thlazarus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/F, Female Friendship, Friendship, Gen, Interfaith, Interfaith Relationships, Multiple Wardens (Dragon Age), all origins becomes wardens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28554378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hes5thlazarus/pseuds/hes5thlazarus
Summary: Surana talks Mahariel through writing Leliana, after Leliana leaves to work for the Divine. Shartan promised them a home, and Mahariel worries Leliana, devout as she is, cannot give it to her.
Relationships: Leliana/Female Mahariel (Dragon Age), Leliana/Mahariel (Dragon Age), Surana & Mahariel, Zevran Arainai/Female Surana, Zevran Arainai/Surana
Kudos: 11





	Shartan's Riddle

“I think,” Surana draws out her words, avoiding Mahariel’s gaze, “you need a hobby. Something that’s not brooding with Velanna. Why don’t you visit Leliana?”   
  
Mahariel shrugs. Surana fixes her with a stare. “Lethallin,” she says. “ _ Lethallin _ . Are you paying attention to me?”   
  
Mahariel says, “I’m fine. And you’re pronouncing it wrong.” She pauses, then enunciates clearly, “Leliana isn’t a hobby.”   
  
“But fucking is,” Surana says. Mahariel gives her a look and Surana rolls her eyes. She grabs at her arm but Mahariel flinches away. “You’ve done nothing but mope since the darkspawn attacked. I don’t have anywhere to go, just yet. I can hold down the fort while you visit Leliana.”   
  
“She went back to Orlais,” Mahariel says finally. “Called to the Divine’s side.   
  
Surana pauses. She takes a sip from her glass of wine and studies it: finely-blown glass, with a pattern etched in gold reminiscent of the mosaics they found in the ruins of the Brecilian Forest. She holds it up to the candelabra and enjoys how the light plays amber in the glass. “She’s taken vows?”   
  
“No.” Mahariel leans back in her chair. “Put the glass down before you break it. They’re a bribe from the Marquis of Serault, and I quite like them.”   
  
Surana carefully sets the glass down. “Arana. Has she written you?”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
“Did you reply?” Surana leans forward as Mahariel gets up and walks to the fireplace. She puts her head in her hands as Mahariel, silent as always, stokes the fire. “By the Dread Wolf, Arana, you didn’t, did you? What did the letter say? I never thought she’d leave you.”   
  
“She hasn’t,” Mahariel says to the fire.   
  
“Then why are you  _ moping _ ?” Surana exclaims. “If you could forgive Morrigan for running off--”   
  
Mahariel utters a short laugh and turns around, leaning on the mantle. “Oh, I haven’t, have you heard what she did to Clan Solan? Ithilien, the High Keepers have put a price on her head. And I am not sure if I want to dissuade them otherwise. Last I’ve heard she’s fled with her child to Orlais.”   
  
Surana is briefly intrigued, but refuses to let herself be sidetracked. “Don’t change the subject. We’re not talking about Morrigan, we’re talking about you and Leliana.”   
  
“Are we?” Mahariel gestures at her. “Pour me a glass.” Surana tops off both their glasses and moves to the armchairs Mahariel has arranged in front of the fire. She has made quite a cozy home in Vigil’s Keep. No wonder she never wants to leave: her clan has politely requested she concentrate her efforts on keeping the Bannorn as placid as possible, and so she has done her best to make a place. Surana sighs and waits for Mahariel to speak. Finally, after a full ninety seconds of silence, Mahariel says, “It’s not like it is with you and Zevran. At least he knows the Chant of Shartan, and the Song of the Long March. And what that means to the People. Leliana tries, but still, when Justinia called she left immediately. She didn’t even ask me what I thought. Her faith is first.” Mahariel’s tone grows bitter. “So the Chant can be heard from every corner of this earth, and drown out dissonant voices.”   
  
Surana says, “That’s not fair. Did you talk to her? You should at least write her. She’s not a fanatic.”   
  
Mahariel says, “Do you remember the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and what the shade of Shartan said? ‘I’d neither a guest nor trespasser be. In this place I belong, that belongs to me.’ Home. Our home. Elvhenan before, then the Dirthavaren. That is what we are chained to, Ithilien. All of us. And I cannot escape those chains. Every time I hear that awful Chant, I think about Shartan’s ghost, sworn to home. Embodying, for the past thousand years, the very  _ spirit _ of home. Of the People. And now Leliana is working for the very woman who seeks to  _ rob _ us--”   
  
Surana says, “You really, really need to talk to her then. I’m certain if you call, she’ll come running too. She loves you, Arana. You’ve heard her rant about love--that loving you and loving us is the highest form of worship, and the only way to realize the glory of the Maker’s embrace--”   
  
Mahariel is amused despite herself. “I didn’t realize you listened to her when she’d go off.”   
  
Surana says, “I was in the Circle for sixteen years, lethallin. Anything argument for letting me fuck without a templar watching, I’ll take.” That makes Mahariel laugh. “I’m serious! Some of them were okay, but there’s a reason why everyone wears robes.”   
  
Mahariel is grinning now. “Sigrun’s only just convinced Anders to wear smallclothes.”   
  
Surana rolls her eyes. “Anders was nearly made Tranquil for getting caught fucking his boyfriend in the chapel, and for using the sacred candles for wax play too. We all mostly wear smallclothes. Anders is just a special case.” Surana gets up and crosses the room to Mahariel’s heavy desk. She pulls out a clean page of parchment and dots a quill into an inkwell. She smiles at Mahariel cheekily. “So, how do we begin? ‘My dearest love Leliana, one million apologies for me being my usual silent and emotionally constipated self, but I’m afraid your religion is more important to you than examining the way it’s been used to, you know, actively murder me and my cousins. Please write your answer to this post-haste. A million kisses--’”   
  
Mahariel leaps up, laughing. “Stop that! You’re wasting good parchment.” She takes the quill from her, dripping ink onto her hands. She shoos her away. “Go! I’ll write her. Tonight. I promise. Now leave me alone to do it.”   
  
Surana grabs the bottle of wine as she heads to the door. “I can deliver it myself, lethallin. Zevran’s heard good things about Val Royeaux.”   
  
“Mm,” Mahariel says. As Surana steps through the door, she calls to her back, “Ithilien. Lethallin. Thank you. And sorry. You pronounced it right the first time.”   
  
Surana shoots her a quick, sharp smile over her shoulder. “I know, and that’s why I’m taking the wine. Enjoy your letter, Arana. Bleed your heart out for me.” The door slams behind her, leaving Mahariel slightly unsettled and alone with the ink covering her hands like darkspawn blood. She sighs, wiping it off on a handkerchief, and begins the long process of trying to write.


End file.
